A Kiss Before Dying
by WhenNightmaresWalked
Summary: 'She was lovely, impossibly lovely…and she killed people. She was almost too good to be true.'One-shots of Lucien Lachance and his Silencer as she rises through the ranks of the Dark Brotherhood. Disclaimer:If I owned it, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction
1. Chapter 1: A Kiss Before Dying

Beautiful. That was the only way he could describe what he was seeing. He had been right to observe this one.

He had first seen her leaving The Counts Arms, the city's only inn, as the sun set gently behind the horizon on the Abecean Sea. At first, he watched her solely out of boredom. But as he watched her, he noticed that she moved like he did, keeping to the shadows, clinging to the darkness. Her appearance was unremarkable. She wore a tattered, sackcloth shirt, tight laced leather pants, and leather boots - common garb that contrasted sharply with Anvil's general affluence. But there was something about her that held his attention. Something dark and familiar. So he watched her. She wore an Akaviri katana at her side, an odd choice of weapon for a female, even stranger considering the only way to get one was to raid an Ayleid ruin, or join the Blades, neither of which seemed very likely for this apparently ordinary woman. He chuckled softly to himself. She didn't seem ordinary now.

She was following a Dunmer. Lerano, his name was. Dranas Lerano. The Fighter's Guild had killed his friends while they were thieving Lelles' Quality Merchandise, but he had escaped alive. The coward had left his friends to die and was now hiding in Smuggler's Cave, an old abandoned cavern outside of the city's walls where many a soul had taken refuge. He ventured into town now and again to buy at drink at The Counts Arms, but he never stayed long enough to be noticed. Except, that is, by this girl, and her unseen observer.

Beautiful. When he started following her, he hadn't expected this. But there she was, poised in the damp darkness of the cave above the Dunmer, katana buried in his flesh. She smiled in a sort of grim satisfaction as she pulled the blade from the body. Her observer smiled with her. Like he said…beautiful.

He followed her back to The Counts Arms, moving with the shadows as she did. When she entered the inn, he raised his hand and cast an invisibility spell, shrouding himself even further in shadow. He followed her silently up to her room, standing breathlessly in her doorway. She left the door open for a moment, almost as if waiting for him to enter, and then closed it behind her.

He took this moment to get a good look at her. Though she dressed plainly, she was anything but. She was young, slight, and pale. Her mass of dark black hair cascaded over her shoulders in striking contrast against her ivory complexion. She was lovely, impossibly lovely…and she killed people. She was almost too good to be true.

She stretched out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He stood over her, transfixed. Her eyes were brown, so light brown they were almost golden, like the sun. He was almost disappointed when her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep.

He let her sleep for an hour, content to watch.

When at last he could wait no longer, he approached the side of her bed.

"You sleep rather soundly for a murderer," he murmured. She jolted awake, lurching upright, her hand groping beneath her pillow for her knife. "That's good," he continued, unconcerned by her momentary panic. "You'll need a clear conscience for what I'm about to propose." The girl paused and looked up at him calmly, no hint of fear in her eyes. She said nothing.

"You prefer silence, then?" he said with a smile. "As do I, my dear child. As do I. For is silence not the symphony of death, the orchestration of Sithis himself?" Something flickered in the girl's eyes at the mention of Sithis, but whether it was fear or interest, he could not tell.

"Ironic then that I come to you now as Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood," he murmured. "My name is Lucien Lachance." The girl remained silent. Lucien frowned silently. Usually they started asking questions, demanding answers, making vague threats, or soiling themselves, depending on how they interpreted his arrival. But this girl… she said nothing.

"She has been watching you," Lucien said, determined to elicit some reaction from her. "Observing you, admiring as you end life without pity or remorse. The Night Mother is most pleased. That is why I stand here before you. I bear an offering. An opportunity to join our rather…unique family." A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"I'm listening," she murmured, her eyes betraying nothing.

"Heed my words, for I will not repeat them," Lucien said, though he knew he had her rapt attention. "On the Green Road lies the Inn of Ill Omen. There you will find an old man by the name of Rufio. Kill him, and your initiation will be complete." Lucien looked at her closely as she processed that. Her expression did not change.

"Do this," he continued. "And the next time you sleep in a place I deem secure, I will reveal myself once more, bearing the love of your new family." He reached inside his cloak and drew the Blade of Woe. The dark blade gleamed in the flickering candlelight as he handed it to her.

"Please accept this token from the Dark Brotherhood," he murmured. "It is a virgin blade, and thirsts for blood. May it serve you well, as does your silence. Farewell. I do hope we'll meet again soon." And with that, he turned away, casting the invisibility spell, and disappearing out her door before he could lose himself in those eyes.


	2. Chapter 2: And So It Begins

**A/N: **Yes, I will change verb tenses arbitrarily. Beware!

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She does not wake Rufio before she kills him. She does not threaten, or intimidate, or revel in the kill. She is quick, clean, and quiet. Lucian has seen men and women approach their initiation victims and paint the walls red with their blood. He has seen them fall to their knees, weeping and begging the forgiveness of the Nine. He has seen their hands tremble, their stomachs empty of their contents, some have even fainted.

She does none of these things. Instead, she slips the Blade of Woe between his ribs, and with a deft flick of her wrist, she severs the aorta and he bleeds out in moments.

He can speak to her now, if he wishes, but he waits to see what she does. She gathers Rufio in her arms, her deceptively strong frame supporting the body with ease. Lucien watches in bafflement as she places the body gently, almost tenderly on the ground.

"Thank you, Rufio," she murmurs, folding his hands on his chest. "Your death has done me a great service. You have my eternal thanks. Sleep now, sleep forever." And with that, she stretches out in the bed Rufio just died in, and she closes her eyes.

To say he was surprised would be a gross understatement. She is just one contradiction after another. She is as kind as she is a killer, as merciful as she is ruthless. The Night Mother made flesh… With a sigh, Lucien shakes away the borderline blasphemous thoughts and steps towards her bed.

The moment he releases his invisibility spell, her eyes snap open, and a small smile graces her lips. Lucien feels his heartbeat quicken at the sight, a puzzling reaction, but he chooses to ignore it for now.

"So, the deed is done," he says.

She nods.

And so it begins.


	3. Chapter 3: Of Heaven and the Void

**A/N** Thanks to all the lovely people who have reviewed and added this story to their alerts. You guys are the physical manifestation of AWESOME. :) So, here's some more, but this time from a new point of view. Alright, let's meet the Family. ;)

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_What_ _is the color of night?_

The Hand of Sithis, the Night Mother, and her dark children greeted her at the entrance of the Sanctuary. She pressed her palm against the bloody handprint and murmured, "Sanguine, my brother."

Just as Lucien had promised, the obliging door opened and she entered the Sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood for the first time.

_Welcome home._ And then the door spoke no more.

"Greetings, sister. Greetings!" An Argonian woman approached her, smiling brightly and extending a hand. "I am Ocheeva, mistress of this Sanctuary."

She took Ocheeva's hand silently and returned the smile, inclining her head slightly in deference to the woman's rank.

"Lucien has told me all about you," Ocheeva said with a wink. "I welcome you to the Dark Brotherhood." She gestured grandly around her. "You stand now in our Sanctuary. May it serve as your new home, a place of comfort and security whenever the need arises."

And there it was. She was in the Dark Brotherhood. Ocheeva directed her towards Vicente Valtieri, the man who handled all new recruits' assignments. As a parting gift, Ocheeva presented her with a set of armor. "Lighter than normal leather," she had said. "And black as the Void."It was beautiful.

It was all beautiful. The Sanctuary, all stone walls and dimly lit lanterns that cast shadows that seemed to writhe and dance on the walls simultaneously, it seemed to welcome her with open arms. The bloody handprints on the walls waved their greetings, and the Dark Guardian who shuffled listlessly around paused in his wandering long enough to give her a nod.

Valtieri's room was just around the corner and down the stairs. She passed an Orc and a High Elf deep in conversation, but each sent a smile in her direction as she passed.

The door to Vicente's room was already open. She knocked gently on the doorframe anyway and stepped inside. A man stood inside, his hands clasped behind his back, his face hidden in shadow.

"Warmest greetings to you," he said genially as she lingered by the doorway. "I trust you have already spoken to Ocheeva?" She nodded. "I am Vicente Valtieri. Please, come in, Dark Sister." She stepped closer, her eyes quickly adjusting to the dimness. Her breath caught in her chest as she took in Vicente's appearance. A Breton, like herself, with long, dark brown hair that was pulled back into a loose ponytail, skin so pale he could have been a corpse, and eyes…they were red, a burnt crimson that shone like embers in the dying light. Beyond that, his appearance was unremarkable, save for the gold necklace that hung delicately around his neck.

Vicente must have noticed her scrutiny, for he simply smiled warmly, revealing two slightly elongated canines.

"Please do not let my appearance...unnerve you. The needs and Tenets of the Dark Brotherhood come before my own needs as a vampire." He cocked his head to the side slightly, casting his intense, yet oddly kind, gaze over her.

"I'm afraid Ocheeva failed to pass along your name, my dear," Vicente said apologetically. "What do I have the pleasure of calling you?"

"Celeste," she replied, extending her hand. "Celeste Amelion, as your service." Vicente smiled again and took her hand, bringing it up to his lips. She shivered slightly as his cool breath brushed against her skin.

"A pleasure, to be sure," he murmured. "_Celeste._ A beautiful name. Do you know what it means?"

"Of heaven," said a voice that was not hers. Vicente released her hand in surprise and looked past her. She did not turn to follow his gaze. She knew.

"Lucien," Vicente exclaimed. "I was not expecting you. To what do we owe the honor?"

"I had business with Ocheeva," the Speaker replied, suddenly appearing at Celeste's side. "And I thought I would check to see how our newest recruit is settling in." Vicente raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, how…unexpected," he said. "You usually do not take much of an interest in the recruits." Lucien ignored the vampire and turned his gaze on Celeste.

"So, tell me, Celeste," he murmured, and for the moment she decided not to wonder why the sound of her name uttered from his lips pleased her so. "Are you?"

"Am I what, sir?" she asked, her eyes searching his for some hint to his meaning. A smile flickered across his lips briefly and then vanished.

"Of heaven." There was an intensity in his eyes, and something else she could not name. She struggled to focus on his question. She thought of the blood that had stained her blade, the lives she had sent to Sithis.

"No, sir," she replied at last. "Not of heaven. Of the Void." Lucien was silent for a long moment, his eyes staring into hers, as dark as the nights they haunted and as unfathomable as Sithis himself.

"You are a true child of the Night Mother," he murmured. He turned abruptly to Vicente. "I apologize for interrupting you. I will take my leave." Vicente inclined his head slightly.

"Farewell, Lucian," he replied. "Walk with Sithis." Lucien nodded once and disappeared, without so much as a second glance at Celeste.

He was not fleeing, he told himself, he simply had better things to do than speak to the new recruit. And yet as Lucien melted into the shadows of Cheydinhal, he could not help but feel as if that girl, that strange, enchanting girl who had chosen the Void though she seemed to belong in heaven, had the power to send him running anyway.


	4. Chapter 4: One by One

**A/N: **Again, thank you all for reviews. Reviews make a writer happy, and a happy writer means more chapters. =P Anyway, this one is short, but worry not. More is coming soon. ;)

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One by one, the targets fell.

The pirate captain was the first to die, with an arrow in his heart and a cry in his throat. His crew never knew she was there.

The old man sitting in his chair, surrounded by his silver and his wine, was dead before he heard the stuffed Minotaur head fall. A badly tied knot, the townspeople lamented. A horrible accident.

The Dunmer in the Imperial Palace was next. She picked her way through the sewers as if she had been there before, and on the day Valen Dreth was to be released, he died in his cell.

Then there was the Breton who wanted to fake his death. She stayed her hand, and the mercenary was fooled. Even as she fought through the undead to break him out of the crypt, no one ever realized anything was amiss until the undertaker came for the body.

They all fell, every one of them, a series of tragedies and mysterious disappearances, with nothing in common but the girl who always walked away.

If Lucien thought she was incredible before, she was magnificent now. She performed every contract exactly as she was bid, without flaw, without detection, and she rose through the ranks until finally Vicente had nothing else to offer her.

Well, almost nothing.

Lucien often asked after Celeste's progress, often enough that now Vicente gave him formal reports every week. The vampire spoke fondly of her, and in passing, he remarked how she had expressed an interest in his…circumstances. His "Dark Gift", as he called it. What a glorious creature she would become, Vicente said, with immortality. Lucien's skin crawled at the thought of her becoming like Valtieri… cold, dead, monstrous. He tried to comfort himself with the certainty that she would reject the offer if Vicente ever made it.

She didn't.


	5. Chapter 5: Oblivion

**A/N: **Okay, to clarify, this chronologically goes somewhere in between the events that take past in the last chapter. So, this is after most of her contracts, but before she becomes a vampire. That'll come later, boys and girls.

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She rarely stays at the Sanctuary after she's completed a contract. Sometimes she spends the night, but then she's gone as soon as the sun rises. This is not unusual among the Dark Brotherhood, for some people find it easier to complete missions if they seem like normal members of society.

But sometimes she is gone for days at a time, and when she returns, her eyes look a little wearier, her blade looks a little bloodier, and Lucien can't help but wonder where it is she goes and what she does.

So he follows her. She leaves Cheydinhal on foot, though with the money she's made on her contracts, he's quite sure she could afford a horse. Instead she walks, and he follows a little distance behind, keeping silent, keeping in the shadows.

She does not travel far before she happens across a small village, or farm, and finds some way to help the residents there. She cleans out a goblin cave, or reverses a pesky invisibility spell, and then moves on, asking for neither reward nor recognition.

And she makes her way ever west, never pausing except to lend a hand, and then she's gone sooner than anyone can form a thank you.

Who is this girl, Lucien wonders in bafflement, who can save a life and take one in the same breath, who can cut down a man with as much ease as she can give him coin. How does such good and such evil live within one woman?

She walks for miles, so many miles, and Lucien begins to wonder how long he can follow her, sleeping outside because she doesn't stop at inns, walking because she won't buy a horse.

But finally the air grows colder, and their path turns uphill, and Lucien realizes they're heading to Bruma. At first he thinks she's going to stop in town, but instead she walks straight past it, up and up into the Jerall mountains and where in Tamriel could she possibly be going?

He surveys the white, clean mountainside and sighs. There's nowhere to hide here, no shadows in which to lurk. It's just bright snow and sunlight, and even if he casts an invisibility spell, he'll still leave footprints in the snow.

There is nothing to do but wait and see if she comes down.

It is hours before she returns, but she is not alone. She is flanked by two men, talking and laughing with her as if old friends. One of them is in full armor, Blade armor, in fact. The other looks like a monk. Martin, she calls him. Although, the way he looks at Celeste, he most certainly has not committed himself to a life of celibacy. An unexpected wave of anger overcomes him; she's never smiled at _him_ like that before. Who in Sithis' name are these people?

He watches her from behind a tree, disgusted with himself for spying, but he's followed her since Cheydinhal, he's not going to miss an opportunity to learn what's going on.

"We've missed you, Celeste," Martin says, touching her arm gently. "Much has happened since you were here last. My work with the Mysterium Xarxes continues every day, and when at last it's been translated, we'll be able to make real progress." The Blade beside him nods vigorously.

"Yes, and we've made excellent progress with the Gates," he interjects. "However, since the death of Uriel Septim, our funds from the Imperial City have been lacking, so repairs to equipment and weapons is taking a heavy toll." Celeste smiles and reaches into her cloak.

"Here," she says, pulling out a hefty bag of coins. Lucien's eyes narrow as he recognizes it as one of the bags awarded to her for a particularly successful mission. "This should help," Celeste continues. "I have duties elsewhere I must attend to, but I will investigate the things you spoke of, and I will be back. My blade is yours, gentlemen." Martin smiles and clasps her hand.

"Walk with the Nine," he says, and only Lucien catches her brief rueful smile before she nods her appreciation and turns away.

What is she doing, Lucien wants to scream at her. Consorting with guards, not just guards…_Blades_. Is she mad? The guardians of the Empire, and she's giving them money. What else is she giving them? Information? Perhaps she's a spy. On whom? The Dark Brotherhood encourages lives and connections outside the Sanctuary, but not soldiers, not the law, not the Sithis-damned Empire.

She enters Bruma and takes refuge at Olav's Tap and Tack before the sun sets. Lucien follows close behind, making no effort to hide himself now. He will have words with Celeste, and if she has betrayed the Brotherhood, then by Sithis, he will have screams.

* * *

Celeste does not flinch when the door slams open. She doesn't move when Lucien storms in and grabs her by the hair. She says nothing as he slams her up against the wall. She does nothing at all. She's tired and Lucien has followed her long enough.

"What have you done?" he demands. "What do they know?" Celeste blinks.

"What?" she asks dumbly. "Who?" Lucien scowls and pulls his hand back, striking it across her face before she has a chance to even process the movement.

"What have you been doing?" he growls. "Giving them our names, our gold? Telling them our secrets? What do they know?" He's screaming now, not caring if the inn's other residents hear. She doesn't care either. How could Lucien think this of her? That she would betray the Brotherhood, the Hand, him. They'd only known each other a handful of weeks, but…she thought…she thought he knew her better.

"I didn't tell them anything," she replies at last, her voice calm, even. Lucien's eyes flash, all fire and anger and full of blood. She can't help but remember something Gogron had said once, long ago when she was still a fresh recruit, so desperate to learn of the man who had offered her a place in the Brotherhood. _"I once saw Lucien deal with an insubordinate Brother, someone who had broken the Tenets," he had said. "It took me a week to get the blood off my boots." _Is that her Fate, now after everything she has done, everything she has yet to do?

"Don't lie to me," Lucien spits out between clenched teeth. "Don't you dare, or by Sithis, I will end you." She's pinned against the wall, his forearm pressed against her throat, her knives are out of reach. There's still one thing…

"Lucien, please," she whispers and something flickers in his eyes. "There are things you don't know, so many things. You don't know why I'm here, you don't know what's coming to this world, and…" She shifts and places her hand on his chest. "You don't know I like to play with fire." With a flick of her wrist, flames burst from her palm, the magicka within her flowing to fuel her spell. She can see the thought in Lucien's eyes,_ Father Sithis, she's a mage_… before he goes flying backwards, clutching at his blistering flesh.

He lands in a heap on the other side of the room, his robes singed, his eyes tight with pain. Celeste sighs and stands over him, perching her hands on her hips.

"Now, perhaps we can have a relatively civil conversation?" she says mildly. "The men you saw me with are my friends, my allies. We're working together to get a job done. " Lucien's eyes narrow.

"What job?" he asks. Celeste sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, suddenly weary.

"It's nothing that need concern you," she replies. "Not yet, anyway…"

"How can I believe you?"

That hurts more than it should, that he just can't take her word for it. Has she ever given him any reason not to trust her? Any reason to think that she does not care for the Brotherhood as much as he does? She sighs and kneels down before him, holding a hand out to his burns, casting a minor healing spell.

"I suppose," she says, watching his skin heal. "You'll just have to trust me." Lucien stares up at her, the expression in his eyes no longer angry… Now they're unreadable again, as fathomless as the Void.

"What if I can't?" he murmurs. He doesn't say what he's thinking. _What if I don't know how?_ There's no room for trust in this business, Celeste knows it better than most. And maybe trust is asking too much, but right now she doesn't care. She's fought too long, too hard, and she's tired. She's angry.

"Then don't," she snaps. "Something's happening, and I have to deal with it. So you go back to sit in Fort Farragut, behind your walls and skeletons, and orchestrate the deaths of people you've never met, and I will do my job, I will kill for you and then I will face what is coming." She turns away, towards the door, wanting to escape him and hating herself for her cowardice.

"What is coming?" Lucien demands. She doesn't turn. He sighs and tries again, gentler this time. "Celeste." Her shoulders slump slightly at the sound of her name. "What is coming?"

She turns around, slowly, her warm, honey-colored eyes expressionless, staring not at him, but past him somewhere far away, where only she could see.

"…Oblivion."


	6. Chapter 6: Gift of the Night Mother

**A/N: **I was told that the death of one of my fans was imminent unless I put up another chapter, so here it is... Your reviews make me smile, and you all are the bestest ever. Thanks guys. :)

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The sun had long since set when Vicente heard Celeste enter the Sanctuary. He looked up from his book with a smile. She had been gone for a long while this time, and truth be told, Vicente had begun to miss her presence. She was a breath of fresh air in this dusty halls of the Sanctuary; she was young, she was kind, a rare quality in this line of work, and she was always willing to stay up and talk with him long into the darker nights, when the weight of all his years pressed heavily upon him and he felt he could not bear another moment alone.

But she was here now, and that was all that mattered. She lingered at the entrance, not yet noticing him sitting there in the corner. His smile faded. She seemed…not quite there. Her eyes passed listlessly over the Sanctuary walls, the flickering light from the torches casting strange shadows on her face. She looked almost inhuman, ethereal…beautiful.

She moved towards the sleeping quarters slightly, paused, and then turned to move across the main foyer, towards Ocheeva's room, towards his room.

"Good evening, Celeste," Vicente murmured. She started, her hand instinctively moving to the blade at her side. She inhaled deeply and turned to him. Vicente frowned. She looked tired, so tired and older than she was. What had happened? Lucien would tell him nothing as he stormed through the Sanctuary other than, "I want a report when she returns."

"Celeste," he said gently, closing his book and getting to his feet. "What happened? Are you alright?" She finally met his gaze, her normally bright and beautiful golden eyes staring back at him hollowly, something weary and broken lurking beneath the surface. She just shook her head.

"I…" her voice faltered. "I just want to help…help us all." She swayed dangerously and Vicente caught her before she collapsed.

"Come on," he murmured, hoisting her into his arms. "You must sleep." He considered the sleeping quarters and then with only a moment's hesitation, he turned the corner to his room.

She was asleep by the time he reached his door. His stone slab might not have been the most comfortable bed, but it was all he could offer at the moment. As he leaned over to set her down her fingers tightened around his shirt collar.

"No, please," she whispered, something almost like fear flickering in her eyes. "Stay." Vicente paused and then nodded, setting her down and kneeling beside her.

"I am here," he murmured. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" Celeste nodded. She told him of her travel to Bruma, she told him how Lucien followed her, how he had come to the wrong conclusion, how he had threatened her life for something she did not do. Vicente's jaw clenched, an unexpected rage pulsing through him at the thought of Lucien laying a hand on her.

"Are you injured?" he asked, leaning back to look her over. She just shook her head.

"No," she replied, a humorless smile flitting across her lips. "In fact, Lucien might be a little worse for wear. I'm not all that good at Restoration, and he didn't seem very deserving of my magicka at the time." Vicente smiled and took her hand in his.

"So, why _were_ you in Bruma?" he asked, red eyes staring into gold intently. "If you do not mind me asking." Celeste sighed and sat up, bringing her knees to her chest and hugging them close.

"Do you know what's going on up there?" she murmured, looking up at the ceiling."Outside of here?" Vicente shook his head quietly.

"Do you know who's fighting right now?" she continued, a faraway look in her eye. "Do you know who's dying?" She paused. "I do." Vicente frowned, confused, but waited for her to keep going.

"There's evil in the world," she whispered. "Greater evil than just you or I. And I have to fight it, because no one else will. I have to walk worlds of fire and close the Gates, or the hordes of Oblivion will spill out into Tamriel. Near Bruma, there is a temple of the Blades. They fight with me, that is all. I was just checking in, making sure they were all alright, and I get accused of treason." She sighed and rubbed her eyes tiredly. Vicente sighed and pushed her back onto the slab.

"It's alright," he soothed. "Everything will be alright. Sleep now and let me deal with Lucien." Her eyes flashed with something like fear and clutched at his hand, as if she could stop him.

"No, don't," she said urgently. "He was going to kill me. If he still thinks I'm a traitor and you speak on my behalf, he may try to kill you as well." Her grip tightened, her eyes despairing and furious at the same time and Vicente could not even begin to decipher the thoughts behind them. Instead, he smiled and pressed his lips gently against her forehead.

"Worry not for me," he said, pulling away slightly from her. "I'm just going to talk some sense into our dear Brother. In any case, Lucien would not dare break the Tenets on a hunch, and should he try, remember I am much older than he is, much stronger. The Night Mother will guide us in this, Celeste." She sighed and released his hand, relaxing slightly against the cool stone.

"Be careful," she pleaded. "And thank you, Vicente." The vampire shook his head.

"Think nothing of it," he said, turning towards the door. "You are like a Dark Gift from the Night Mother herself, and Lucien must learn that." And with that he left, the very wrath of Sithis in his eyes, and the hunger for Lachance's blood in his throat.


	7. Chapter 7: Ultimatum

**A/N: **Reviews equal love. Thanks guys. :)

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Lucien slumped wearily into a chair, grateful to be back in the familiar, damp gloom of Fort Farragut. He was getting too old to be traipsing around Cyrodill. Only thirty-odd years, and already too old for this. Too old to be flinging accusations and threats at young assassins who doubled as mages, and Sithis help him, but she was magnificent when she was angry. Lucien struggled to steer his mind away from that train of thought, because it just led to her, and her broken, amber eyes that spoke of horrors he could not name, of pain that he could never experience or inflict, of secrets that only Sithis himself knew.

Lucien shook those thoughts away almost angrily. He was a Speaker of the Black Hand, for Sithis' sake… he had ended countless lives and only ever paused to wipe the blood from his sword, he was a monster, a murderer, the reason why people feared the name of the Brotherhood, of Sithis, and this girl was making him feel almost _guilty._ For what? For doing his duty? He had only done what any other Speaker would have done, though any other Speaker would have killed her. What did he have to feel guilty about?

_"I suppose you'll just have to trust me." _

_"What if I can't?" _

Ah, that flash of pain in her eyes, gone as quickly as it came, but there nonetheless, and what could it possibly mean? Did she think he would trust her? He had no reason to, no _need_ to. He barely knew Celeste, never mind the hours he had spent following her, and those brief, polite snatches of conversation every time he came to the Sanctuary that always stretched hours longer than either of them meant them to. All he knew was that she was a Breton, that she was skilled with a sword, and bow, and most any other weapon imaginable. He knew that she could pick a lock, mix a poison, remain seen, but unseen, and end a life with a skill that matched that of some members of the Hand. She was a good assassin. That was all he needed to know. And if he happened to know that she was sad sometimes, that she was too young to be _that_ good at her job, that she killed and prayed in the same breath, that she was just so heart-achingly _beautiful_, well… he didn't care.

And if he knew that was a lie, he didn't care about that either.

So he had no reason to trust her. But for some reason, she had trusted him, had _healed_ him after he attacked her, and that was the most unfathomable thing of all. Why would she do that?

Because she was kind. Well, there was that, yes, he knew that. He had watched her help every blasted farmer with a sob story on the way to Bruma. Perhaps she had feared breaking the Tenets, though he would have been breaking them himself if he had killed her without real proof of treason.

That led to another unsettling train of thought. Why had he burst in there without first finding absolute proof to confirm his suspicions? It was the way of the Hand, careful, methodical, logical. But no, he had let his temper take him, let his fist fly at her, and why in Sithis' name had he been so angry?

_Because it was her._ If it had been anyone else then he would have investigated, found his proof, and then killed her without a second thought. But it had been her, and he had expected more. More loyalty, to the Brotherhood, to him. He wasn't sure when he had started taking these things so personally, but he found he didn't like it.

He started out of his uncharacteristically deep contemplations as he heard the trap door above him creak open. Ah, Vicente… she must be back, he thought. It was surprising, though, he couldn't remember the last time Vicente had left the Sanctuary, let alone come to Fort Farragut.

"Vicente, I didn't expect you to come here personally," Lucien remarked dryly, getting to his feet. "I'm almost honored." He turned towards the vampire just in time to see Vicente's fist crash against his face.

"What-?" he sputtered, rubbing his jaw, shock dissolving into anger. "You would _dare_ raise a hand against your Speaker?" Vicente scowled, an anger Lucien had never seen before in the eyes of the normally mild-mannered vampire.

"Don't pull that with me, Lucien," he spat. "I remember when you were a scared little boy, no higher than my sword, and terrified of your own shadow. You rank above me in name only, and I've lived too long to care." Lucien crossed his arms in front of him, silently conceding to that point, though he'd never admit it.

"Well, would you care to tell me what I did to deserve such a greeting?" Vicente's eyes flashed angrily, his red eyes darkening to a bloody crimson.

"She told me what happened," he growled. "She told me what you did, what you accused her of. How _dare_ you raise your hand against a fellow Sister without cause? Without proof?" Lucien flinched in spite of himself, surprised by the venom in Vicente's words, and for some reason he decided not to think about at the moment, ashamed. The Speaker of the Black Hand and he was ashamed. It was disgusting.

"She was consorting with _Blades,_" he snapped, searching vainly for something to justify his anger. "She gave them coin, _our _coin. Being part of the Brotherhood demands keeping quiet, keeping invisible, but she just traipses across Cyrodiil and declares her existence to the world." Vicente's eyes narrowed, his hands almost trembling with anger.

"You have no idea what she was doing there," he said, spitting the words out between clenched jaws. "And even if she did betray us, the Night Mother demands proof. Celeste has been a loyal child of Sithis since she joined us. Now mark me well, Lucien, if you lay a hand on her again like that, I will make sure you see the Void before the day is through."

Another feeling stirred within Lucien then, not just indignation at Vicente's audacity, but something else entirely… Why did the vampire _care _so much?

"You would threaten me, would incur the wrath of Sithis, for _her?_" Lucien demanded. "Why?" Something in Vicente's eyes flickered, and Lucien was quite sure he didn't like what he saw there.

"Because she would do the same for any of us," he said at last. "Even you." Lucien had nothing to say to that. He sighed, once again feeling the shame wash over him.

"She…she is alright?" he asked quietly. Vicente's anger faltered for a second and he nodded.

"Yes, she is alright," he replied, his eyes still red with anger, but his voice less hostile. "No thanks to you, I might add. She came to me, exhausted and terrified that if I spoke to you, you'd kill me." Lucien sighed. She thought so little of him… that he'd kill a Brother for simply associating with her? Well, now that he thought about it, he probably gave that impression.

"I was…mistaken," he said at last. "I acted rashly, and I should know better, after all these years. Celeste need not fear my wrath any longer." Vicente nodded slowly, surprise evident in his eyes.

"I would suggest you tell her that," he said, turning back to the ladder. "In the morning, of course. Celeste needs her sleep now." Lucien found he didn't like the fond way Vicente spoke of her, the way his voice wrapped tenderly around her name. He decided it would be too much of a headache to question why.

"Oh, and Lucien," the vampire continued, turning his gaze back on him. "Remember what I said before. She is of the Brotherhood, of Sithis, and you will not hurt her again." And with that he was gone, back to the Sanctuary before the sun arose, leaving Lucien standing alone.


	8. Chapter 8: Softness

**A/N**: Once more I am stunned by the amount of love I get from all of you. You make writing this fun. =) Okay, some more introspection, and then we'll get to some action-y bits.

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_Men are but flesh and blood. They know their doom, but not the hour._

Celeste was quite sure truer words had never been spoken. They were all naught but whispers that died so soon after birth, they might as well not have ever lived at all. One could not guarantee that the ground beneath them would hold, or that the sky would not swallow them, but one could always count on death. It was almost comforting. The Emperor knew this, was comforted by this. And Sithis, but she wished he had never come through her cell, that he had never dreamed of her face, never gripped tightly to her hand as he died.

_Close shut the jaws of Oblivion. _

She closed her eyes and buried her head in her hands. Right… no pressure or anything. She just had to beat back the tide of daedra that threatened to overwhelm Tamriel. And what was she doing? Sitting in the Brotherhood Sanctuary, waiting, hoping, praying that Vicente would come back to her.

And perhaps a small part of her wished Lucien would come back with him. She had to know if he still thought her a traitor, if he still did not trust her. He was her Speaker, her Teacher, the one who had given her this Dark Family when she had no other to turn to. If he hated her… She sighed and shook those thoughts away. If he hated her, he would kill her, and there was no use dwelling on that.

She supposed she should be wondering why she was even in the Sanctuary at all. She could have gone back to Cloud Ruler Temple, back to Martin and the Blades, and Sithis help any assassin that tried to kill her there. But though she loved her Emperor, the Temple was not her home. It was a bright, frozen place, full of soldiers and the weight of their destinies. The Sanctuary was dark and warm, and all the love of the Night Mother wrapped around her. She could not laugh with Jauffre the way she laughed with Gogron, nor could she speak to Martin of all the shadows in her heart the way she could speak with Vicente. They knew her darkness and loved her anyway. Martin would never understand.

"Celeste?" She jumped to her feet and spun around, overwhelmed with relief at hearing Vicente's voice. If Lucien did not kill him, perhaps he had forgiven her, perhaps… She shook that thought away. That wasn't important. Vicente was all right, and that was all that mattered.

"Thank Sithis you're okay," she said, throwing her arms around him before she really thought about it. He stiffened slightly in surprise and then relaxed, returning the embrace. "What happened?" Vicente smiled grimly.

"I think I convinced Lucien to see reason," he murmured. "He has admitted the foolishness of his actions." Celeste blinked. He admitted he was wrong? He was the Speaker. As far as they were concerned, he was _never_ wrong.

Celeste pulled away and slumped back into her chair, relief surging over her again. Vicente sat across from her, folding his hands in front of him, his eyes meeting hers with their characteristic crimson intensity. Someone else might have been uncomfortable under his scrutiny, but they had spent many a night baring their souls to each other, and now there was nothing left to see.

"I hope you do not think poorly of Lucien after this," he said after a moment. "He came to the Sanctuary long ago, when he was still young. The Night Mother had declared him her child. He had…well, he can relate to you the details of his recruitment. My point is, he was raised to believe in unerring loyalty to the Brotherhood and that anything less deserves death. He acted on instinct. It is what makes him a good Speaker. This is not to say he was right in what he did, quite the opposite. He simply is who he is. " Celeste nodded and sighed.

"Yes, I know." She looked down at her hands. "I don't know. I suppose I thought… I thought he'd know better." Vicente smiled slightly and covered her hand with his own.

"My dear Sister, Lucien knows what he thinks knows, and when he starts to know _better_ it shall be a cold day in Oblivion." She flinched, her hand clenching beneath Vicente's. Understanding flickered in his eyes and he gave her hand a squeeze.

"Forgive me," he murmured. "That was a poor choice of words on my part. But the point still stands. Lucien has his faults, as do we all. And do keep in mind, we have been betrayed in the past by assassins who called the Brotherhood home far longer than you. He was merely doing what he thought he must." Celeste lowered her eyes from Vicente's, pondering that.

"If he believed he was doing his duty," she said after a moment. "Then how did you convince him to see reason?" He grimaced slightly and scratched the back of his left.

"It is fortunate that I am much older than Lucien," he said, smirking almost sheepishly. "Otherwise, I hardly think I would be able to get away with hitting my Speaker." Celeste's jaw dropped open.

"You…you hit him?" she sputtered. "And he didn't, I mean… After all that talk about him just doing his duty and…" She trailed off and shook her head. "Why?" Vicente shrugged.

"He hurt you," he said simply. "That is not, by any stretch of the imagination, to be tolerated. Fortunately for me, Lucien is a sensible man." He smiled slightly, though it did not seem to reach his eyes. "Also fortunately for me, Lucien seems to have a soft spot for you."

Celeste opened her mouth and then clamped it shut again. She had nothing to say to that. A soft spot? He was Lucien, the Speaker. He was the darkness that writhed in the center of the Void, his were the hands of Sithis. He was, however clichéd it was to say, quite simply, death. And there was no softness in death. He had taught her that.


	9. Chapter 9: Forgiven and Betrayed

**A/N: **Greetings, Dark Brothers and Sisters. Sorry this took so long... lots of pre-Christmas homework and then Christmas itself delayed the writing of this chapter. But weep no more, children of Sithis, it is here. ;)

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Temple cut. Downward strike. Shuffle step. Parry. Sweep up across the jugular. Killing blow. A pattern. Nothing but a pattern. Endless, varying only in the path the sword took. The result was always the same. Celeste found the familiar sword forms comforting in the warm gloom of the Brotherhood training room. She had still not heard from Martin and there were no new contracts. The only thing left to do was train, for if she sat still she would be left to her thoughts and she knew she was far too introspective for her own good.

She spun around and brought her sword down on the training dummy. The blade glanced off the side, rebounding with such force, she stumbled backwards.

"You should deepen your stance," a voice behind her murmured. "You would be steadier." Celeste flinched and forced herself to calmly sheath her sword and turn around. Lucien stood impassively there, his hands clasped behind his back, his habitual unfathomable expression dark in his eyes.

"Yes, Speaker," Celeste said quietly. She looked down at her sword and wondered if she was supposed to continue training or wait for Lucien to speak.

"Did you need something-" "It seems that I should-" They both began to speak in tandem and then stopped. Celeste cleared her throat and gestured vaguely towards him to speak. He sighed and met her gaze, his usual proud, dispassionate demeanor unmarred save for the quiet sadness in his eyes that Celeste did not understand.

"I find myself having the unprecedented obligation to… apologize," he said at last. "I was overhasty in my judgment. I should have…" He sighed. "Well, there are so many things I should have done. I acted too impulsively and I am…sorry." Celeste stared at him, thunderstruck by his admission. He was _sorry_? And he was admitting that? It was, as he said, unprecedented. She realized suddenly that he was still standing there, waiting for her forgiveness, or at the very least acknowledgement.

"Thank you," she said softly. "Really, thank you. I realize now how my actions must have seemed, and I am sorry. I do not blame you for your reaction; I would have done much the same to anyone who had seemed to betray the Brotherhood." Lucien nodded once, almost seeming relieved at her words.

"I must speak with Ocheeva," he said abruptly. "Excuse me." And then he was gone, hurrying through the doors just as Teinaava strode in. The Argonian stopped in surprise and bowed low. By the time he straightened, Lucien was gone.

"Dear Sister," he said, turning back to Celeste. "What in Sithis' name have you done to our good Speaker?" Celeste shook her head, dumbfounded.

"I have no idea."

* * *

Lucien pushed open the door to Ocheeva's room, struggling to banish the memory of the confusion in Celeste's eyes and focus on the matter at hand. He did have business with the master of the Sanctuary, though it was, in part, an excuse to escape Celeste's presence. Sithis, how he hated apologizing. But she had forgiven him, stunned though she had seemed. Forgiven and understood. If it was a relief, he was determined to tell himself it was because any ill will between them would be detrimental to the service of Sithis.

"Ah, Lucien." Ocheeva's voice interrupted Lucien's thoughts, and he was glad for the distraction. "What a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you? Please, come in, sit." Lucien stepped forward and took the chair she offered, folding his hands in front of him.

"Forgive me for skipping the pleasantries and getting right to the point," he said. "But I have, of late, heard a few…troubling rumors. Rumors of betrayal. Murder. An assassin among assassins you might say." He paused for a moment, allowing that to sink in. "Have you heard from the Chorrol Sanctuary lately?" Ocheeva frowned.

"I have heard nothing," she replied, interlacing her fingers in front of her. Lucien nodded grimly.

"I had expected as much," he said with a sigh. "Their Speaker has been the only one to leave their Sanctuary in days. She told me one of the Brothers has been found murdered. You may remember him. Marcus Ostorius. An Imperial, he came through here when he was first recruited." Ocheeva sighed and nodded.

"I remember him," she said. "In fact, I recently deferred a contract to the Chorral Sanctuary and I recommended it go to him." Lucien suppressed a groan.

"Well, he died on that contract," he said bluntly. "The Brothers and Sisters of the Sanctuary are not taking it well. They find it suspicious that a Brother who originated from Cheydinhal died on a contract that should have gone to a member of this Sanctuary. And on top of it all, it appears to be an assassin who killed him." He leaned forward, ensuring he had the Argonian's rapt attention.

"There are whispers of betrayal," he murmured. "And they are directed here. I assume you can imagine how dangerous that is. There are some in the Black Hand that do not await proof of betrayal before carrying out judgment." _Like me_. The thought came unbidden, and the truth of it did not bode well for his Sanctuary.

"What do you propose we do, then, Lucien?" Ocheeva asked quietly. Lucien shook his head and got to his feet.

"There's very little we can do," he admitted. "Stay calm, stay quiet. Serve Sithis. The Night Mother knows our hearts… She and our Dread Father will see us through this." Ocheeva nodded once and took Lucien's hand.

"Thank you, Speaker," she said. "Walk with Sithis." He nodded and turned away, the events of the past few days heavy in his mind. Betrayal. There had been far too much talk of betrayal and he was tired of it. Sithis damn it all, he wanted to kill something.

"...Scar-Tail. Kill this renegade. And bring me his heart as proof of the deed." Lucien stopped in his tracks as he passed the open doors to the living quarters. That sounded like an opportunity to kill something…and then brutally dismember it.

"I will see it done, Teinaava."

Ah. So _she_ was to gut the renegade Argonian. How…delightful. Lucien turned on his heels and poked his head inside.

"So she will," he said. Celeste started and spun around, eyes wide. "Quickly now, fetch your blade. I'm coming with you."


	10. Chapter 10: You Will See

**A/N: **Hey guys. I just wanted to remind you all that you guys are really awesome. Also, if anything I write ever makes any sense, it's only 'cause Whomightibe betas this for me.

* * *

It was supposed to be an easy contract. Just one Argonian sitting alone in Blackmarsh. Very simple, fun even… No parameters except the removal of the heart, so there was room for…creativity. So very simple, or at least…it was supposed to be. Now, well, now they had a problem and Lucien blamed Celeste.

She wanted to kill Scar-Tail.

So did he.

"Teinaava asked _me_ to do it," she pointed out. Lucien huffed and crossed his arms in front of him.

"Yes, but I am your Speaker," Lucien argued. "If I want to be the one to send him to the Void, then I will be." Celeste rolled her eyes and poked her head around the tree, taking a peek at the Argonian sitting a few yards away.

"I have not had a contract in weeks," she murmured, watching Scar-Tail's every movement. "You, on the other hand, have killed all you want." Lucien shook his head.

"On the contrary, dear Sister," he said, following her line of sight. The Argonian appeared nervous. Almost as if he knew what was coming. "My blade has not been bloodied for some time. And perhaps you would receive more contracts if you were ever _at_ the Sanctuary." Celeste flinched and Lucien immediately regretted his words. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her blade, her knuckles white with the strength of her grip, anger flashing in her eyes before she turned away. Lucien sighed. She still hadn't told him what exactly she was fighting, but the way she and Vicente talked about it, he imagined it had to be important. And here he was, mocking her for it.

"Maybe if you spent more time being a Speaker instead of following Murderers around," Celeste said after a moment, interrupting his thoughts. "You would be around to kill things." Lucien had no words for that. Celeste didn't meet his gaze and instead pulled out Sufferthorn.

"Compromise, then," she said, keeping her eyes trained on Scar-Tail. "I will kill him. And then you can rip out his heart."

* * *

"He has treasure," Celeste said, wiping the blood from her blade. "In a rock. Who _does_ that?" Lucien shrugged and joined her at the stump. Sure enough, in a hollowed out part of the rock sat a sizeable amount of gold. Celeste scooped the coins into a small bag and wordlessly handed it to him. Lucien blinked in surprise.

"This is yours," he said, offering it back to her. "Your contract. Your reward." She glanced up at him and sighed.

"You cut out the heart. If you want it, keep it," she replied quietly. "Otherwise, it's going to Martin." Lucien stiffened.

"Ah, yes. Martin." Lucien decided for the moment not to think about his sudden dislike for a man he did not know. "The monk. What exactly is he to do with all this gold?" Celeste shrugged.

"Armor, weapons, food for the Blades," she said simply. "Repairs. Potions for healing. Anything else that a group of hungry soldiers needs." Lucien sighed and shook his head.

"But _what _are these soldiers meant for?" he demanded, tired of his confusion and, for some reason, angry that she would tell Vicente and not him. She just looked back at him, disbelief in her eyes.

"How could you _possibly_ have no idea?" she murmured, her eyes searching his for some indication that he was not serious. "Holed away in Fort Farragut, absorbed in the lives you must end, in the gods and ghosts you serve, and you have no idea." She smiled bitterly, an expression that Lucien decided he did not like.

"But no matter," she continued quietly. "You will discover soon enough." Lucien caught her arm as she moved to turn away, pulling her close enough he could see every shade of gold in her eyes. He wanted to look into them, into_ her _the way she so often looked into him. He wanted to see what was behind the anger and the pain, the weariness that seemed far too old for a girl so young. She blinked at him in surprise, confusion flickering in her eyes before giving way to defiance.

"What do you want, Lucien?" she said, spitting out the words between teeth clenched in anger.

"I want you to talk to me," he growled, his hand tightening around her arm. "I am your Speaker. You're supposed to _talk_ to me. Please." The word slipped out before he could stop it. He never had to plea for anything. He had only to speak and his Murderers would obey. But he pleaded nonetheless. Celeste's eyes softened slightly, and for a moment, just an infinitesimal moment, the anger dissolved and he saw fear, raw fear, and compassion, love almost, that he had never seen before, could not even begin to understand, and which encompassed the whole of Tamriel, or why else would she live with such fear and pain day after day? Such burning emotion in impossibly fathomless eyes, it made his head spin.

And…ah. She was just staring at him.

"Please," he said again, more firmly this time. She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again, the fear and love were gone. Now there was only odd resignation.

"I think it would be easier if I let you see for yourself," she murmured, pulling away from him. "I'm sure we'll stumble across one on our way home. They seem to be popping up everywhere now." Lucien swallowed down the flash of annoyance at her continued cryptic responses.

"For the love of Sithis, _what_ are you talking about?" Celeste sighed and took the coins that Lucien still held towards her.

"Gates," she said simply. "You will see. Come along, now."


	11. Chapter 11: Moments of Change

**A/N: **Again, betaed by the wonderful Whomightibe... Thanks to everyone for your wonderful reviews. I apologize for the length of time between updates, but I often find myself with very little time for writing. Oh well, enjoy. Beware of verb tense changes!

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In life, there are moments that stand apart from all others. They carry the burden of Fate, the substance of a choice. They are invisible, immeasurable, and once they have passed, they are gone forever. These moments are blessings or curses, but bear the potential for greatness. They blur the line between man and woman, Speaker and Slayer, and separate the hero from the assassin. These are moments of change, of definition.

In Lucien, Celeste sees a man defined by the lives he has taken. He would be darkness and death, the very hands of Sithis, but she has seen true evil in the planes of Oblivion, in the hordes of Dagon, and she knows now he is not so dark.

In Celeste, Lucien sees an enigma. She is a bloodied angel in shrouded armor. She is a nameless, faceless hero in a war he did not know was being fought. She would bring light to the world as quickly as she would send it to the Void.

The boy who would be an assassin. The girl who would be a hero. They are drawn together even as they are repelled by the strangeness they each sense in the other, for who could understand a soul so much like their own? They move to a dance of shadows and half-truths, threats and pleas that neither of them understands. They might just keep dancing to their deaths.

But that's what moments like these are for.

Moments of change.

* * *

Lucien isn't sure what he thought Celeste meant when she said "Gates." City gates? Castle gates? Gates to some abandoned fort or some ancient ruin. One thing is certain. He wasn't expecting this.

A yawning chasm of fire and flames, the very rage of Destruction turned hot and red… monstrous hate incarnate, if he is feeling poetic. That is what he sees when the sky bleeds and unearthly thunder growls overhead. And Celeste doesn't even blink.

"This is Oblivion," she says before he has a chance to ask. "The realm of Dagon. His daedra swarm from the Gates, seeking to destroy Tamriel." She pulls out her sword. "And I have to stop it."

And she does. She takes her blade and dances around the daedra pouring from the Gate, cutting them down with one hand and firing spells at them with the other. Lucien barely has time to take out his sword before she's running _towards_ the Gate. _Sithis preserve me_, he thinks, _she's a madwoman_. She stops before the flaming portal and turns back, something flickering behind golden eyes. She reaches deep into her cloak pocket and pulls out Scar-Tail's heart.

"Teinaava will want this," she says, tossing it to Lucien. "I shall see you back at the Sanctuary."

And with that, she's gone. She walks straight through fire with nothing more than 'See you later'.

Like _hell_ she will.

She's halfway to the Sigil Keep before she hears him calling her name. She turns slightly and sees Lucien striding towards her, an anger she does not understand in his eyes.

"For the love of Sithis, slow down," he mutters angrily. She raises an eyebrow as he falls into step with her.

"You don't have to do this," she says quietly, unable to understand why any man in his right mind would follow her into fire. "This is my job." Lucien snorts, and as he looks around at this world of fire, he cannot imagine why she would ever elect to do this on her own. He had thought that darkness was beautiful, and it is, the darkness of the Void is just silence and peace. But this darkness is different. It isn't the embrace of death. It's a perversion of it. It's destruction and chaos.

It occurs to him that all that stands between the world and this chaos is one girl, a single soul between Tamriel and Oblivion. It is a burden she has lived with for weeks now, and she never told him. And he called her a traitor for it.

"What kind of Speaker would I be," he says, fighting down disgust at himself. "If I let you go off by yourself while on a contract?" He waits for her to brush him off, to insist that she's not on a contract, just a favor for a friend, and that he can go home. But she doesn't. Instead she breathes a deep sigh of relief and looks at him with such gratitude, he feels she should never again enter a Gate alone.

"Come on, then," he says gruffly. "I do not wish to linger." Celeste smiles briefly and then she's off again.

They steadily make their way up the tower, a trail of fallen daedra in their wake. Every moment they spend in this Sithis-forsaken realm Lucien can feel himself breathing in the rot and stink, can feel the death of the place saturating him. Celeste just trudges on, silent and sure as she slaughters her way up the tower.

"How much further?" he asks, eager to be rid of this place as soon as he can. Celeste glances at the pillar of fire they've been following up the tower and shrugs.

"One more level, I think," she says. "And then into the Sigillum Sanguis." Lucien decides not to ask what that means and instead brings his sword down on a scamp that seems to appear from nowhere. The blade sticks, for just a moment, but it's long enough.

"Die, mortal!" The unearthly scream rips through the air, accompanied by Celeste's belated cry.

"Lucien, move!" He spins around in time to see a daedra charge him. He's frozen where he stands at the sight of the hell spawn, all crimson and black, the fire of Oblivion behind soulless eyes. He sees the sword arcing down and down - he realizes with vague detachment that he won't be able to move in time. _Dread Father, Mother, welcome me in the Void_. He closes his eyes and waits for pain.

It does not come.

He opens his eyes. Celeste stands before him, faced away, eyes locked on the body at her feet. Blood the color of fire pools around the daedra's severed neck and, for a moment, all is silent.

She turns back to him slowly, her eyes closed and jaw clenched tight. Her hand is pressed against her stomach and a trickle of blood oozes from between her fingers.

"Celeste…" He reaches a hand out to her, for the first time unsure of what to do.

"I'm fine," she says, eyes tight. "I'm…" She trails off as she stumbles, her face twisted in pain. Lucien catches her before she falls, decidedly unsettled by the damp coolness of her skin.

"Ah, that's…strange," she murmurs, looking down at her wound. Her fingers tighten around Lucien's arm as her knees buckle beneath her. "Of course, it _would_ be a Valkynaz." Lucien gathers her up into his arms, panic he hasn't felt in years rising up within him.

"Valkynaz," he repeats. "What does that mean?"

"Dremora," she says, her fingernails digging into his shoulder as she fights back a cry of pain. "The fetchers always poison their blades." Her eyes squeeze shut, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she points to the door behind him.

"The stone…take the stone. The Gate will close." He's through the door and halfway to the stone before she's finished speaking.

"Hold on, Celeste," he murmurs, holding her closer as he takes hold of their way out. "We'll be home soon."


	12. Chapter 12: First Time For Everything

**A/N: **Hello, lovely people... Not betaed, so beware. I was impatient. Read at your peril.

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The sky still rumbled overhead, but when Lucien opened his eyes, the clouds above were grey, not the angry red of Oblivion. He sighed deeply, too relieved to care that he was lying in the mud. The rain that fell from the heavens felt cool against his skin, cleansing the soot and grime and blood from his face and cloak. The sigil stone was still clenched tightly in his hand, the black sphere for which they had risked so much little more than a rock in his fist.

He sat up slowly, depositing the stone absently into his pocket, allowing himself to enjoy the cool feel of the rain. Oblivion was a dirty place, and he didn't much like it. Though, the rain would not be very kind to the leather armor Celeste was…

Celeste.

Cursing his own stupidity, he lurched to his feet, rushing over to where she lay a few feet away. She was still, so very still, and paler than any living soul had any right to be. Delicate rivulets of blood cut tiny crimson streams through the mud, pooling around her like veins in the earth. For one wild moment, Lucien thought she was dead.

"Lucien…" She breathed his name through barely parted lips, but it was enough to mean she was alive. She blinked up at him slowly, a fleeting smile flickering across her lips.

"We're out, then?" she murmured. "That's good." She gasped softly and clutched her hand to her abdomen, eyes screwed shut as a wave of pain crashed over her. "I don't mean to rush you, but I think it might be a good idea to get to the Sanctuary as quickly as possible."

Lucien nodded, gathering her into his arms, swallowing his panic as she fought back another cry of pain.

"What do you need?" he demanded, desperate to keep her talking. He was already moving, futile though it seemed. The Yellow Road stretched before him for so long, it seemed folly to say Cheydinhal lay at the end of it.

"Vicente," she replied softy. "I need Vicente… He knows…what to do." It wasn't exactly what Lucien wanted to hear, but he decided it was not the time to be irritated by her preference for the vampire.

"Alright," he said, adjusting her in his arms. "You know what would be helpful at a time like this? A horse." Celeste smiled wryly, clinging tighter to him.

"I've never ridden a horse before in my life," she murmured. "I don't know how." Lucien snorted.

"You're our only hope to drive back the daedra, the hero of this whole world, and you don't know how to ride a horse." He shook his head, trying to sound more amused than he really felt. "What will become of us?" Celeste just sighed and said nothing, relaxing in his arms. The question hung in the air uncertainly, bearing a weight that neither of them wanted to acknowledge. What _would _become of the world? One woman, no matter how extraordinary, could not be enough. It was just one Oblivion Gate, and she was _dying_ in his arms. How many had she entered? How had she left all of them alive?

_She never had to look after you. _Lucien mentally flinched at the thought and then struggled to push away the guilt that followed. She had allowed him to follow her into the Gate, had _wanted_ him to follow her. He was prepared, content, even, to die. And she took the blow. She was protecting her Speaker, as was right for a Brotherhood assassin. But she wasn't just an assassin, she was the only hero Tamriel had, and now she was dying.

"Foolish girl," he muttered. "Why would you do that? Why would you save me?" She did not deign to answer him. "Celeste?" Silence. Lucien frowned and glanced down at her.

Ah. She was unconscious. That wasn't good.

"Celeste," he barked, jostling her slightly in his arms. "Celeste, wake _up_." She did not respond, silent and still as death, and it absolutely terrified him. Okay, okay, one thing at a time. He was a Speaker of the Black Hand, he did not panic. He took a breath to collect his thoughts. First of all, where were they? They had just barely crossed the Corbolo before they had come across the Gate, and he'd been walking for about fifteen minutes. He could see the derelict towers of Fort Sejanus looming in the distance. It was too far, still too far to Cheydinhal. They wouldn't make it.

Lucien's gaze landed on a narrow path the split from the main road. Perhaps it led to a settlement? Muttering a prayer to Sithis that this was not a waste of time, he turned down the path, growing increasingly hopeful as he saw the cluster of buildings that lay at the end of it. He could only hope they were friendly.

"Hello?" he cried as he neared the first farmhouse. "Is there anyone here?" He shifted Celeste in his arms, struggling to free a hand to pound on the door. "By Sithis, _answer me_." His bellowing finally rose above the wind and rain and the door before him creaked open.

"Now, now, no need to shout. What is-" A young Breton woman emerged from the doorway. Her words died in her throat as her eyes took in his Black Hand robes. Fear flickered across her eyes before they landed on the girl in his arms.

"By the Nine," she gasped. "Lady Amelion! What has happened? Come in, quickly." She ushered Lucien in, motioning to a bed in the corner. "Lay her there. I will fetch my father. One moment." And with that she was gone, leaving Lucien standing in the middle of her home, dripping water and blood onto the floor. He sighed and gently lay Celeste down on the bed the girl had offered, pointedly looking away from the face that was far too lifeless for his liking. Which was strange, he noted detachedly, he usually liked lifeless.

_This is your fault_. He decided he didn't like the self-deprecating turn his thoughts were taking, but he couldn't disagree. What would the world do without her, if she died? How would Tamriel survive? What would Martin and the Blades do? Vicente, Ocheeva, the rest of the Brotherhood? What would _he_ do?

Well, he'd go on, of course. He'd go on just fine. To him, she was simply another assassin. If he cared at all about her survival, it was because Tamriel needed her. That was all.

"Lady Amelion!" He pulled away from her as he heard people coming down the stairs. It was the Breton girl from before, followed by an older man whom he assumed was her father. "What happened?" Lucien sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose wearily.

"We went into an Oblivion Gate," he explained. "There was a Dremora. She got hurt. His blade was poisoned. I need to get her back to Cheydinhal, but she's losing too much blood. If you have a horse I could borrow, you might save her life." The older man nodded quickly.

"Yes, of course," he said. "In fact, I have something that might help." He motioned to his daughter. "Callia, see if you can't bandage her wound . I'll return shortly." Callia nodded and rushed to a dresser, fishing out some bandages from the drawers. Lucien sighed and began the exceedingly unhelpful, but distracting process of carefully pacing back and forth across the floor. He made the mistake of glancing over at Celeste as Callia lifted up her shirt, revealing the ugly gash carved into her side and the spider webs of red stretching across her abdomen, and subsequently decided to keep his eyes firmly on the floor.

"How do you know Celeste?" he asked after several almost unbearable moments of silence. Callia smiled slightly as she unrolled her bandages.

"She stopped by on her way to Leyawin once," she said. "'Out of curiosity,' she said. We had just moved from High Rock to settle here, but we were caught between two warring goblin clans. No sooner had we told her of our troubles than she was halfway through the caves, killing them all and making sure they never troubled us again." She smiled sadly as she dabbed at the blood around Celeste's wound. "She stopped by a few times, to see how we were getting on. She never accepted any reward. We learned later that she was the Hero of Kvatch. Imagine that… Tamriel's great hero taking time to help a few immigrants like us."

Lucien nodded slightly, his pacing ceased, his eyes lingering on Celeste's face. She was truly a remarkable creature. And she didn't deserve to die.

"Alright, I found it!" Callia's father came bounding down the stairs and held up a small glass vial triumphantly.

"A health potion!" he exclaimed delightedly. "It won't help much with the poisoning, but it will stop the bleeding long enough for you to get to Cheydinhal." _Thank you, Sithis. _He took the vial and handed it to Callia. He wasn't a healer. It would be foolish to pretend.

He had never before prayed to the Night Mother to save a life. As Callia brought the potion to Celeste's lips, he thought, well, there's a first time for everything.


	13. Chapter 13: Beat and Breath

**A/N: **Here you go, peoples. Betaed by Whomightibe once again, and dedicated to Leo W. who made my day with the nicest message ever. You are a like a Dark Gift from the Night Mother herself. Oh, and all you other wonderful readers as well. :D Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

Inhale.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. _

A breath. A heartbeat. All very good things and Celeste is painfully aware of each one.

Exhale.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. _

Each breath is a little harder than the last. Each heartbeat comes in staggering lurches, first racing past, then slowing to a crawl.

Inhale.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. _

It's dark. Too dark. She forces her eyes open. Lucien stands above her, his eyes full of relief battling with agony, fury contesting with joy. For a moment, an all too fleeting moment, he is just a man, and he's scared. She wants to ask why, but the emotion is gone as quickly as it came, and he is Lucien the Speaker once more.

Exhale.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. _

Lucien lifts her into his arms. He thanks the man and woman standing beside him. They look familiar. What were their names? Celeste struggles to remember. Barthel and Callia. Yes, that was it. The settlers from High Rock. She tries to thank them, to apologize for the bloody mess she has made, but her tongue is thick in her mouth and before she knows it, Lucien is lifting her onto a horse. "It's about time you learned to ride."

Inhale.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. _

The horse is tall. Very tall. But it's fast, and she supposes that's a good thing. Lucien sits behind her, his arms gently wrapped around her waist. He tries so very hard not to touch her wound, so she never whimpers when he does. By Sithis, she's tired. She closes her eyes, just for a little while, and leans against Lucien. She feels the horse quicken beneath her.

Exhale.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. _

She's not sure how much time has passed. It felt like hours and seconds all at once. One moment and an eternity ago, she was on the road, now the gates of Cheydinhal loom above her. "We're almost home, Celeste," Lucien murmurs in her ear.

...Inhale.

_Thump-thump. Thump…thump._

Her chest aches as she struggles for another breath. Lucien barks at the guards to open the gates. They do as he says silently, because this is Cheydinhal, and when a man in the robes of the Black Hand demands something, he must be obeyed. So the gates open, and Lucien makes his way to a broken-down, abandoned house that everyone knows is not really abandoned and enters a door that's not really boarded shut. "We're here," Lucien whispers. "We're home."

Exhale.

_Thump…thump. Thump…thump._

"Valtieri!" Lucien shouts the vampire's name. He's already halfway through the foyer, his stride smooth and sure, but Celeste can feel him trembling.

…Inhale.

_Thump…thump. Thump…thump._

"What have you done?" Vicente's voice is angry, accusing, but his hand is gentle and cool against her throat as he searches for a pulse. "I've done nothing," Lucien snaps. He relates what happened quickly, his words blurring together until all Celeste can make out is the cadence of his voice. Deep and soft, trying for all the world to sound calm, and confident, but she can hear the timbre of worry beneath his words. "She said you would know what to do."

Exhale.

_Thump…thump. Thump…_

"I have lived a long time, read many books. I know what to do." Vicente's voice is calm, but Lucien doesn't seem convinced. "But you've never actually done this before." Vicente pauses and then concedes. "No, but I'm confident what I have studied is correct. And should all else fail, well…" He trails off. Lucien shakes his head. "No. Not unless she asks."

…Inhale.

_Thump…thump. Thump… _

Sithis help her, but it _hurts. _Why can't she just die already? She's tired. Tired of pain and blood, of screams and tears, of worlds of fire and empires in ruin. She's tired of Jauffre's hopelessness, Baurus' guilt, Martin's fear. She's tired of Brotherhood conspiracies, of accusations and death threats.

Exhale.

_Thump…thump. _

She's tired.

_Thump…thump._

They'd get along fine without her.

_Thump… _

"Celeste… "

Inhale.

_Thump… _

"Celeste, listen to me."

_Thump… _

"You are an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood. I am your Speaker. Don't die. Do you hear me? You have to live."

_Thump…_

"You will obey your Speaker."

Exhale.

...


	14. Chapter 14: Rage Against the Dying

**A/N: **Hey everybody. First of all, allow me to extend my sincerest apologies for the lateness of this chapter. School and work and life has just been rather crazy lately, so I am very sorry. Thank you to everyone who has continued to read the story. I greatly appreciate it. =) Now, this has not been beta'd, so read at your own peril!

_P.S. _Also, the full title is "Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light", but I didn't have enough room for that nonsense. Internet-hug if you recognize it. =)

* * *

She awoke to silence. Stillness. Something like peace. There was a bed beneath her, a blanket above, a hand threaded through hers. She didn't open her eyes - not yet. It felt good just to… be. To be asleep, to be safe.

Vicente had done what he was meant to. He had read the books she had given him so many weeks ago, just in case, used the knowledge he had acquired over the years. He had mixed the antidote and saved her, just like she knew he would. She'd have to thank him for that.

And Lucien… She wondered where he was, if his was the hand that held hers. She hadn't expected him to follow her into the Gate, hadn't expected him to stay when he learned what lay within, hadn't expected him to just _stand_ there as the Dremora' blade fell and wait to die. It almost made her angry. But that wasn't fair, some annoyingly logical part of her mind argued. She had been _happy_ he had stayed, she had been so relieved to finally not have to walk through fire alone, she did not object. She had no right to be angry, and as far as she was concerned, it took too much energy to be upset at this point, so she let it go and opened her eyes.

"Welcome back." Vicente sat beside her, smiling gently. "How are you feeling?" He took a breath, tasting the air around her. "The bleeding has stopped and the poison is out of your system. You should be fine."

Celeste smiled and nodded once. She had expected nothing less.

"I feel better," she murmured. "Thank you, Vicente. I don't know what I would do without you." His hand tightened around hers, and for a moment, he just looked at her, unreadable emotions flickering behind unfathomable eyes, his thumb sliding gently across the back of her hand.

"It is no trouble," he said softly. He tore his eyes away and released her hand, and for a brief moment Celeste mourned the distance between them. "I understand you're quite the hero." Celeste snorted.

"The term is being thrown about far too liberally these days," she said. "It's all nonsense. But I do my best." Vicente raised an eyebrow.

"Heroes have a way of dying before their time," he pointed out. Celeste smiled wanly and shook her head.

"Nonsense. We die precisely when we mean to." Vicente rolled his eyes and got to his feet.

"Let us hope so," he said. "Excuse me, I must let Lucien know you're awake." She raised an eyebrow.

"He's still here?" A strangely sad smile flickered across Vicente's lips as he nodded.

"He was concerned for your health," he said as he approached the door. "It took a great deal of convincing to persuade him to leave and rest." Celeste felt a stab of guilt, which was promptly followed by confusion. What did he need from her? Perhaps he had questions. She certainly hadn't been very forthcoming with details concerning the extent of the crisis in Tamriel. She wondered how much she should tell him about Martin and the Blades… Jauffre would tell her to say nothing at all, but then he'd also probably say something along the lines of, "Don't become a member of a group of assassins in service to bloodthirsty, murderous deities."

"She's awake?" Lucien's voice was muted from the other side of the door, but she could hear his anxiety, his concern, his overwhelming relief, things she did not understand, and she knew that he could ask anything he wanted of her, and she would tell him.

He entered silently; though that was the way he did everything, silent and sure. It was the way he walked, the way he killed, the way he lived. "For is silence not the symphony of death?" he had said to her once, what seemed like a long time ago in that too-big, too-empty room in Anvil. "The orchestration of Sithis himself?" Silence was such, and so was he, beautiful and steady, like the ground beneath her feet and the shadows in her heart.

"Good morning, Lucien," she said quietly. "Or is it afternoon?" She smiled, but he remained impassive, unmoving, whatever emotions he may have been feeling before locked carefully away behind dark brown eyes.

"Vicente has informed me you will recover." His voice was quiet, subdued, carefully controlled. A far cry from the panic she had heard only moments before from the other side of the door. Her smile faded.

"He does good work," she said, searching his face for some hint to the thoughts that lay behind it. "Though, I would be dead if not for you." Lucien nodded tersely.

"Indeed." He sighed, and his stillness became heavy, some intangible thing in the air that seemed like the electric pause before a storm. He seemed angry with her, almost, though for the life of her, she couldn't imagine why.

"Do you have any idea what could have happened?" His voice shook with something like fury. Celeste frowned.

"I think I have a fairly good idea," she replied shortly. "The funny thing about being an assassin… you become rather aware of your own mortality." Lucien spun around, eyes flashing.

"Then why do you seem so intent on hastening your death?" he demanded. "You stupid, foolish girl! Why would you throw your life away like that? You could have died, do you understand that?" Celeste shrank back from his fury, bewildered by his sudden emotion.

"I…I thought…" she sputtered. Lucien forged on ahead over her words.

"You have a job to do," he snapped. "Or did you forget that you seem to be the only one capable of closing any of the Sithis-damned Gates? Tamriel needs you and you were just going to go and die?" Indignation flared behind her confusion.

"I saved your life," she pointed out. Lucien simply scowled.

"My life?" he scoffed. "My life is none of your concern. If I died, it would have been the will of Sithis." Celeste flinched inwardly. How could he speak of his life so flippantly? How could he resent her for saving it?

"Why are you so angry about this?" she demanded, anger crashing against prudence.

"You almost _died," _Lucien bellowed, shocking Celeste into silence. He turned away and was still for a moment, taking a slow, shuddering breath. When he spoke again his voice was calm. "I'm your Speaker. You're my responsibility. But I'm an assassin. I take life, I do not guard it. It's a burden I neither need nor want. It must not happen again."

A burden. In the end, that was all she was. Dead weight. Good for closing Gates and ending lives and not much else. For removing things from the world, but never for adding to it.

A burden. A responsibility.

A hero and an assassin. A paradox. A burden to both the Blades and the Brotherhood.

Fine.

"Forgive me, then," she said curtly, swallowing her shame and bitterness. "I did not know what else to do. You followed me. As far as I was concerned, you became my responsibility the moment you stepped foot in the gates. And I couldn't…" Sithis damn it, her voice cracked then. "I couldn't let you die."

Something flickered in Lucien's eyes and for a moment there was peace between them. Between two souls who couldn't allow the other to perish. It was a moment of peace and a moment of struggle, a taut wire between them, waiting to see who would break it first. Neither would perish, or they both would. Lucien would accept nothing less.

"Then you understand my displeasure," he said after a beat. "My point still stands. Do not let it happen again."

A burden. A responsibility. The wire snapped.

"Very well, Lucien," Celeste murmured as he neared the door. He paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

"You will address me as 'Speaker' or 'sir', is that understood?"

She nodded once.

"Very well, Speaker."

He closed the door between them and was gone without another word.


	15. Chapter 15: Be All My Sins Remembered

**A/N: **Sooooo... I know that I've taken a ridiculously long time to update, and for that you have my sincerest apologies. But thanks to an inspiring message from Leo W. a while ago, I got my bum in gear and wrote stuff. Now, as a warning to you all, this is not betaed, and it contains some... mature-ish content. If someone is uncomfortable with it, do let me know. Now, children of Sithis, do enjoy. Reviews = love, so do let me know if you all are still with me. Please and thank you. =)

* * *

Lucien slams the door shut behind him, paying no heed to the icy glare coming his way from the vampire in the corner.

"You're a fool," Vicente calls after him. Lucien says nothing as he disappears up the ladder, his only lingering thought being, "I know."

* * *

"Sithis-damned fool," Vicente mutters again as he gets to his feet and strides towards the door of the living quarters. His footsteps echo eerily in the strangely empty Sanctuary. Ocheeva and Teinaava had taken Antoinetta Marie out for some fieldwork, and Telaendril and Gogron were out on contracts. He had given M'raaj-Dar strict orders to be elsewhere for the remainder of Celeste's recovery, but where he is skulking, Vicente cannot imagine.

He pushes the door to the living quarters open slowly, knocking as he does so. Celeste lays, silent and still, eyes glued to the ceiling, as empty and expressionless as he knew they would be.

"Are you alright?" he asks quietly, knowing full well she is not, but needing to know how not alright she is.

"He's the same," she mutters darkly. "The same as all of them. He wasn't supposed to be the same." Vicente frowns and sits beside her, taking her hand in his. Her skin is warm, it burns against his skin like fire, but he finds himself grateful for the warmth. It means she's alive, that she's angry, and for some reason, that makes him wonder what harm could possibly come to them now. For, in truth, he hadn't been sure he could save her. Yes, he had read the books and gathered the experience of centuries, but as she lay before him, body and blood strewn over his table, he could only think of what would happen if he failed.

And Lucien… how Lucien had raged while she died. He paced and prayed and when it seemed like Celeste would not wake, Lucien's anger could have torn down the very walls of Cheydinhal.

Stranger than that, though, was the softness in his eyes as he watched her, the tenderness with which he took her hand and ordered her not to die. Vicente had never seen anything like it; indeed, even now he has difficulty reconciling that with the man that stormed out of the Sanctuary.

He had heard their… discussion, of course. He could hear Lucien's heart pounding in anger and rage and…something else. Heard Celeste's still weak heart thump in her chest as Lucien railed against her. He could imagine her face as she responded, defiance playing behind golden eyes. Could imagine something closing behind them, cold and expressionless as she answered, "Very well, Speaker."

And now she was angry, and perhaps now irrevocably closed to Lucien. Did he have any idea what he'd done?

"Same as whom?" he asks, finally acknowledging Celeste's words. Celeste sighs and her head drops against the pillow, an unendurable weariness flashing across her eyes.

"Do you want to know how I came to Cyrodill?" she asks softly. "How I came to the Imperial prison, to the Blades, and at last to the Brotherhood? I never told you, did I? All those hours we spent sharing stories, and I never told you that one." Vicente nods, for they have spoken of many, many things, but never of her.

"I came from a village south of Daggerfall," she begins, staring past Vicente, far, far away, all the way to a village in High Rock. "It was a pretty enough place. Fields of grass that stretched further than the sky, trees that seemed to reach higher than the mountains. It was beautiful and I hated it…" She laughs, short and humorless and it almost hurts.

"I wanted to get out, to experience more than trees and grass. But there was nowhere for me to go, and no way for me to get there. I spent so many days, dreaming of ways to get out. I needn't have bothered." A shadow passes over her eyes, and for a moment, she looks as old Vicente is.

"Have you ever heard of the Sisters?" she says softly. "They're something akin to the Brotherhood in High Rock, but exclusively female. They pray to no Mother and serve no Father. They kill… for money, for sex, for no reason at all, sometimes. They are many and they are hollow souls, empty things." She pauses.

"They would take young girls, steal them from their schools, from their beds, from their fields. They were brought to the House, the place where the Sisters whored and killed and they were taught to do the same. I was such a girl."

Silence stretches between them for a moment and Vicente struggles to calm the anger in his heart, for he has heard of the Sisters, in Brotherhood legend, and knows them to be Sithis-damned whores and offenses to the Night Mother. Celeste, perhaps sensing his anger, threads her fingers through his and gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

"It's so different here," she murmurs. "This place… this Sanctuary, and so rightly named it is. There was no sanctuary to be found in that place. And though they called themselves Sisters, they were no family." She sighs.

"They took me while I was wandering in one of those great fields I had always longed to escape. There were two women, fully armed and much stronger than I was. I tried to fight them off, tried to scream. They only beat me harder, until finally I fell unconscious. When I arrived at the House, I was immediately placed in a small room by myself and left to starve. For days I languished there against the cold stone, alone and terrified until finally I was too weak to move." She speaks as if she's just telling a story of some other lost girl, not herself, and Vicente feels himself drawn with her into the past, to a cramped cell and a starving girl.

"When at last I thought I would die, the door opened and a Sister walked in, followed by a man. _'Don't fret, little sister,'_ she said. _'The faster you learn, the better.'_ She left then, and the man entered, locking the door behind him." She pauses a moment, eyes staring in terror at the memory of the man in the doorway, eyes, hands, face shrouded in shadow.

"He forced himself upon me then. I hadn't the strength to scream, let alone fight him off. I lay there as he thrust into me, again and again until he could do so no more. As I lay weeping in my own blood and fluids, I thought that now at last I might die. But the man simply left, and the Sister returned, this time with food and water. _'Eat',_ she said. _'Eat and_ _perhaps next time you shall be ready.'_

"I don't know how long that continued. Weeks, maybe. Always they would starve me, and then that same man would come back. Always afterwards the Sister would feed me, and always say the same thing. _'Eat. Eat and perhaps next time you shall be ready._' She never said more than that, and it only served to bewilder me. Eventually I began to look forward to their coming, for at least then the agony of hunger would stop. They began to come more frequently, until I was fed most every day. My strength returned, slowly but surely, and I started to think of ways to escape. Then, one day… the man came and I found myself angry. Furious. He started to unfasten his belt and as he began, I decided… no more." Vestigial anger from all those years ago flashes across her eyes like murder and a layer of the mystery that is Celeste falls away.

"There was…a stone I had pried from the walls and sharpened. I took it in my hands as he pleasured himself, and I killed him with it. He died and never even knew what happened. And when the Sister at last returned, she smiled and said _'Well done. At last you are ready.'_

That was how they trained their girls. First they taught them to associate relief with sex, and then they taught them to kill when they'd had enough. I became one of them because I didn't know what else to do. I killed and never wondered why, never wondered if there could be a life outside of the House for me. I prayed to the Nine to deliver me, and when they didn't, I began to believe there was no place to be delivered to. So I honed my skills, and became the killer…and whore, I was trained to be." She falls silent then, and that silence hangs between them with all the weight of memory. Her eyes never waver from the ceiling, and for a moment, Vicente wonders if she can see the whole of her life unfolding in the cracks in the stone above her.

"You're no whore, Celeste," he says with a finality that cannot be disputed. "You are a daughter of the Night Mother and a valued sister in our Brotherhood." She smiles wryly, almost skeptically, and for some reason that makes him angry.

"Perhaps," she says. "Regardless, I was a whore then and the lessons I learned remain with me still. But no matter. Allow me to skip a few years to when I first came to Cyrodiil." Vicente flinches at the word 'years'. How could she have managed to spend years in such a place?

"I eventually became good enough to be sent out on contracts," Celeste begins again, once more taking on the distanced storytelling quality from before. "Hiring the Sisters is easier than hiring the Brotherhood. All you needed was enough money and to know where to find them. One day, I was summoned by the Mistress. She told me there was a wealthy merchant in Skingrad who had earned the ire of a fellow shop owner. I was to go there and kill him by any means necessary." A small smile flits across her lips.

"At last, my chance to leave High Rock had finally come. And all the way to Cyrodiil, too. The center of the world, the home of the Emperor himself. Imagine my excitement, to travel to the heart of the Empire at its strongest since the days of Pelagius IV or even Tiber Septim himself." A note of a child's excitement at the prospect of adventure creeps into her voice, and Vicente can't help but smile.

"I boarded a ship in the ports of Daggerfall," she continues. "And I sailed, watching High Rock fade into the distance as I was carried across the Illiac Bay, past the island of Betony, around the peninsula of Hammerfell, and then on past Stros M'Kai and into the Abecean Sea. After many days at sea, I finally arrived at the Gold Coast and my ship landed in Anvil. I stepped foot on the docks, and I was in Cyrodiil. It was an amazing feeling." The smile almost reaches her eyes, but not quite.

"I walked to Skingrad from there." Noting Vicente's look of mild surprise, she explains, "I'd never ridden a horse before, and I was unwilling to begin with the intimidating white steeds they had at the stable in Anvil." She smiles. "In fact, my first time on a horse was when Lucien brought me here." The smile fades. "He found my inexperience laughable, I believe." She falls silent for a moment, but before Vicente can wonder where her thoughts have led her, she has shaken them away and is telling her story once again.

"It only took me a few days longer to arrive in Skingrad… The most beautiful city I'd ever seen. Sithis, how beautiful it was. It almost felt like freedom. I thought to myself, why can't I just stay here? Why do I have to go back? But their training was good, and they had been in my head so long. I found the man I had been sent to kill, and I did what I was trained to do. Only something went wrong…" She shook her head in self-reproach.

"His servant girl ended up walking in as I finished. Fool that I was, I had forgotten to lock the door. She screamed and called for the guards, and there was no way to escape. The guards came and I was arrested. But because I was not a citizen of Cyrodiil, my case was to be reviewed by the count." She smiles wryly and finally glances his way.

"But as I am sure you know, the Count of Skingrad has other things to tend to than lowly murderers."Vicente laughs softly, wondering how Celeste knows of his good friend Janus' nature and what would come of a meeting between the two. The thought makes him smile.

"I was thusly sent to the Imperial City," she continues. "To await judgment of the Emperor himself. A tricky business it would be, if nobles in High Rock knew that one of their own had been executed for crime without their knowledge. So I waited for Uriel." She sighs and the same ineffable sadness returns to her eyes.

"The night he came to see me was the last night he lived."


	16. Chapter 16: Shriller Than All the Music

**A/N: **-sheepish- So, uh... hi, guys. It's been a while, huh? I am very sorry about that... Busy only barely begins to describe my life, so do forgive me for my extended silence. All this time, though, that I've been away, I've still been getting messages and reviews from people who keep managing to find this story. This is for you guys, my wonderful, absurdly patient readers. I'll do my best to keep writing (summer vacation is soon, so who knows, I might actually have time)... But for now, here's a chapter and I am so very sorry it's so late in coming.

* * *

Dim sunlight fights its way through the bars stretched across the prison window. It falls on one single spot of the cell's stone floor, illuminating the dust and grime and one dark stain that looks suspiciously like blood.

Celeste sits, silent and still as the sunlight itself at her lonely table, staring morosely at the empty mug before her. It has been weeks now that she has spent in this dingy cell, so much like the one in High Rock years ago, and it is becoming apparent that the Emperor does not care overmuch to review her case. More depressing than that however, is the fact that she's been here two weeks, three days, six hours and the fetching Dunmer in the cell across from her has not stopped talking.

"Let's see," he's saying now, apparently deigning to address her now for the first time since she's come here. "Pale skin… snotty expression… You must be a Breton. The masters of magicka, right?" He snorts. "You're nothing but a stuck-up harlot with cheap parlor tricks." She flinches at the word 'harlot', but does not argue. She doesn't say anything, for indeed the Bretons are the masters of magicka, and she's met more than a few mages in her time at the House. She's no master wizard, by any means, but as she opens her hand to look at flames dancing lazily in her palm, she thinks that if she's powerful enough to silence the Dunmer, she'll be satisfied.

"Go ahead," the Dunmer sneers, with only the faintest flicker of apprehension. "Try your magicka in here. Let's see you make those bars disappear." He pauses with a mock air of expectation, glancing around, and then testing the solidity of his own bars. "No?" A disappointed sigh. "What's the matter? Not so powerful now, are you Breton?" The thought seems to give him great personal joy. Celeste idly wonders if the whole Breton race managed to wrong him in some way, or if he just carries misanthropy around like a child's beloved toy.

"When I get out of here, Dunmer," she says quietly, extinguishing the flames in her hand. "I just might come back here to kill you." He pauses a moment, then throws his head back to laugh.

"You're not leaving this prison 'til they throw your body in the lake," he says. "Oh, that's right. You're going to die in here, Breton! You're going to die." The announcement lands lightly, and Celeste finds she can't quite bring herself to care that much.

"That does seem likely, doesn't it?" she murmurs absently. There were voices in the corridor. Was the dark elf telling the truth, she wonders. She folds her hands in front of her and closes her eyes, listening to the voices. Perhaps they were coming for her after all. Only, there seem like an awful lot of them.

_"My sons, they're dead, aren't they?" _

_"We don't know that, Sire. The messenger only said they were attacked." _

_"No, they're dead. I know it." _

_"My job right now is to get you to safety." _

Sire? The Emperor? Was he finally coming to...? But no… Celeste processes each piece of information the way her Sisters taught her to - slowly and carefully and searching for what might affect her. The Emperor's sons had been attacked; he was in danger, so why come through the prison? Celeste slowly opens her eyes and takes in the stone walls surrounding her.

Fleeing underground then.

"What's this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off limits!" An Imperial guardswoman she's never seen before stops outside her cell, casting an exasperated look at Moris, the guard who usually brings Celeste her meals (always with just a little extra bread and a smile on the days that she needs it most) and is most certainly the one who would be responsible for moving her to a different cell.

"Usual mix up with the watch, I-I…" The guardswoman shakes her head and cuts him off with a wave of her hand.

"Never mind that, just get this door open."

The Emperor is everything and nothing like she expects. He's old - she expected that - but she didn't expect him to look so...small. Tired. Resigned. There's something in the way he holds himself, the way he steps calmly into the cell… like he's prepared. Like he knows what is happening and why.

"You…" The sound of his voice, deep and low, heavy with the weight of so many years, jerks her attention to the fact that she's been staring at him rather rudely since he arrived.

"I've seen you," he breathes. "Come closer. Let me see your face." Celeste glances at the guards surrounding him, one of whom cautiously nods to her, and she steps closer into the light. The Emperor inhales sharply before something like peace settles over him.

"You are the one from my dreams." A ghost of a smile, and then a sigh. "Then the stars were right, and this is the day." For a fleeting moment, he sounds very small. "Gods give me strength."

"I'm sorry, sir," Celeste says slowly. "But I believe you are mistaking me for someone else. We have never met." A pause. "I am nobody." The Emperor's specter of a smile broadens.

"Hardly," he says. "Here I see you standing before me, flesh and bone. A very convincing disguise for a nobody." He sobers, suddenly. "But you are more important than you know. And you, and the whole of Tamriel, shall know this soon enough." Celeste doesn't miss the bewildered looks that the guards exchange and she takes a step back.

"I'm sorry," she says again, unsure of why she feels like she needs to apologize to this daft old man, but she feels as though she's failing him somehow by not being who he seems to desperately want her to be. "I'm not… I don't know who you think I am, sire, but I'm not her. I'm just…" _A prisoner. A whore. A murderer. Nobody._ The words pass soundlessly between them, but Celeste gets the feeling he knows. Knows and does not care.

"Why you are here and who you have been are not important," he murmurs, looking at her like he _knows_. "That is not what you will be remembered for." A panic that she cannot name, that same feeling of failing, rises in Celeste's throat.

"There's no one to remember me, my lord," she stammers. "I don't understand what you're saying." The Emperor smiles kindly and jerks his head towards her bed, which the guards have revealed to be a secret passage.

"I know, my dear girl. Know only that I need you to come with me now. I will have to ask something of you, and I am very sorry that it has to be you. I know now that I go to my death. But what path can be avoided whose end is fixed by the almighty gods?"

* * *

"He died in my arms." Celeste's voice was even, emotionless, but Vicente could see the anguish wavering in golden eyes, pain for the memory of a man she barely knew who condemned her to a quest she could not fail.

"Why you?" The words slipped out before he could swallow them back. _Why does it always have to be you? _Celeste shrugged and Vicente was surprised she could make such a nonchalant gesture when the fate of the world seemed to rest on her.

"It's not just me," she admitted, wincing as she tried to sit up. "I'm not the hero of this story. Not like Uriel made it seem. Martin is the hero. He's the Emperor to be. He will be the one who lights the Dragonfire and he will be the one that repels Dagon. I'm just here to… help him along."

"Do the dirty work, you mean," Vicente spat, suddenly resentful of the monk who sat surrounded safely by his books while Celeste walked into fire day after day. Celeste simply shook her head.

"Martin never knew his family, never knew his father. He didn't know who he was until I walked into his life and dropped it into his lap. He's been thrust into this just as I have. He has his part. I have mine. And truly, I would not want his job." Vicente sighed and shook his head.

"Perhaps," he murmured. "But forgive me, continue you with your story. Why did you choose to obey the old man?" Celeste pondered that a moment, her fingers picking idly at a loose thread in her blanket.

"A tongue shriller than all the music calls me," she said at last, smiling slightly as though at some private joke. "This is a life with a purpose, more than the Sisters could ever have offered me. But in truth, I never imagined my task would be what it has become. I believed I would have to deliver the amulet to Jauffre, I would perhaps help Uriel's son." She paused. "But then came Kvatch…"

For a moment, Vicente could see the fires of Oblivion reflected in the gold of her eyes. "Horrors beyond imagining. Dead bodies and dead souls and the evil of Dagon made flesh in the creatures that desecrated the city." Her eyes travelled across the empty space before her, back and forth, as if once again beholding the horrors of that day. "All those people, Vicente… They all died." Her voice shook. "All of them. For no reason. The Night Mother did not command it. They were not sent to the Void. It was just mindless, senseless carnage." Silence, for a moment, heavy with memory and regret.

"They call me the Hero of Kvatch, you know." A short, pained laugh. "I closed one door, only to see a hundred open all over Cyrodiil. They call me a Hero and all I do, day after day, is try to plug up holes and every time one is closed, another one bursts open, spewing Dagon's filth into the land. I'm just stalling. Waiting for Martin to save the day. This was - is - my purpose. Until the day I walk into one of those doors and I don't come out." Her eyes finally met Vicente's and suddenly she looked as young as she truly was. "But I'm scared. I don't know what happens to me if I die in that place and I'm scared. And despite all the promises of gods and men, I do not know what becomes of me at the end of this. What kind of hero is that?" Vicente reached out his hand and threaded his fingers with hers.

"A real one," he said, his voice low and urgent, as though if he didn't convince her now of her own importance that she might fade from him forever. "You are not made of ideas or hope, but flesh and blood and so much strength. And no matter what happens to you, I do not doubt you will be blessed. And I," he faltered. "I mean, we… the world is better for having you."

Celeste stared at him for a long moment, incomprehensible and silent. What must she think of him, he thought. Stumbling over his words like an idiot. He withdrew his hand slowly and leaned back in his chair, clearing his throat.

"There is still one thing I do not understand, though." Celeste raised an eyebrow, inviting him to continue. "Why are you here? With all this responsibility laid upon you, why would you join the Brotherhood when we would only ask more blood of you?"

"A question of purpose," she said simply. "There was so much death and I needed it to _mean_ something. And anyway, when I was in the House, I had heard whisperings of the Brotherhood. Assassins, not murderers...not whores. The people I killed were not victims, they were sacrifices. To a power far older than the ones threatening our world." She paused a moment. "And I think a part of me hopes that at the end of all this, Sithis will help us. All of us. And anyway." She smiled somewhat sheepishly. "This is what I'm good at. So when Lucien came for me, I jumped at the chance to serve. And here I am. And since, the Brotherhood has given me a home, which is something I have not had for a very long time." A shadow passed over her eyes and her smiled faded.

"But nothing lasts," she said, with a disturbing resignation. "Something has gone wrong. I can feel it. Things are going to change and that scares me too. There's a sickness in the Brotherhood. I hear it in whispers." Golden eyes like fire turned on his. "And you've heard it too. You feel it, perhaps more acutely than I do. Something's coming, isn't it, Vicente?"

Silence, stretching between them as it so often did, was heavy with the implication of itself. They were just whispers. Fragments of thought riding the wind. Ocheeva had forbidden him from speaking of it, but she was right. Something _was_ wrong. They didn't know why and they were not sure who to blame, but something was changing. And of course, Celeste could feel it. Little more than a child, but so used to the weight of responsibility that she could feel it thrumming in the air. He felt guilty adding to it.

"Yes."


End file.
